


hospital ceiling

by sharlook



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of suicidal tendencies, oh also a sWEAR!!!!, set after G.I. Jeff anyways, vaguely implied self harm?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharlook/pseuds/sharlook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ward is practically empty, but he can hear each noise outside in the empty corridor; nurses talking, murmuring, relatives, constant beeping of countless machines, some of which are his, which is kind of a weird thought. (He wishes for silence, total dead silence, but it's not going to happen any time soon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	hospital ceiling

After everyone goes home or wherever Jeff's left to stare at the hospital ceiling. The ward is practically empty, but he can hear each noise outside in the empty corridor; nurses talking, murmuring, relatives, constant beeping of countless machines, some of which are his, which is kind of a weird thought. (He wishes for silence, total dead silence, but it's not going to happen any time soon.)  
Absent-mindedly, he traces his fingers across the scar above his hip. It's become something of a habit, especially since last thanksgiving, and some days (most days) it'll catch his eye when he's getting dressed in the morning, and he'll pull his shirt over it hurriedly. He tries not to think about it but of course, he does anyway. He has each tiny ridge of tissue memorised by now, even through the fabric of his hospital gown.

Suddenly he hears footsteps down the corridor, and shuts his eyes instinctively, letting his hands flop over the blanket. He doesn't have the motivation to keep up appearances.  
Breathing slowly, he focuses on the quiet clicks of the door opening and shutting, the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum. Whoever it is walks up to the bed slowly, resting their hand (hands?) on the railing (Jeff's not sure, but he can hear the clunk of hollow metal bars.)

"I know you're not sleeping." Abed says, matter-of-factly. Jeff doesn't open his eyes.  
Abed pauses, but continues anyway. "You knew that this would probably kill you. But you still did it."  
Silence. He can feel the younger man watching him closely. (Granted, he can feel that most days, but this time it's different- expectant.) He'd forgotten how uncomfortable it was being lost for words. The feeling is alien to him.  
"This isn't the first time?"  
Jeff's not sure whether to answer or not. He's pretty sure Abed has already guessed.  
"Third." he eventually sighs, opening his eyes. Abed blinks back at him, idly fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves and Jeff’s no psychologist but he knows an unconscious habit when he sees one.  
"You too?"  
"I had a lot of anxiety attacks as a kid. There were a couple of times." Abed rubs at the underside of his wrist with his thumb. "But that's not the point."  
"Isn't it?"  
"You're the one hooked up to a drip."  
Jeff flicks at the tube attached to his hand. The medical tape pulls at his skin a little. "Fair enough."

"The point is that your worth doesn't lie in your age." Jeff looks down, breaks Abed's gaze, the self-defense mechanism of a lack of eye contact kicking in again (and for a second he notices it, notices himself mentally backing away and thinks _fucking_ _pathetic_ but pauses, calms himself, counts the bones he can see shifting under his skin.)  
"You don't believe me but you should. ...I know what it's like to feel irreparably broken. And I would give you a hug at this point but I have a feeling that would be uncomfortable for the both of us."  
Jeff smiles at the backs of his hands.

  
"I should go, I'm expecting a phone call." Abed mumbles. He waits for a second, and when he doesn't get a reply, starts to walk towards the door. His shoes still squeak on the lino.  
"Abed?"  
He looks up at Abed, who's standing in the doorway, waiting and a little bit hopeful.  
"Thanks. You're a good kid. Hopefully I won't have to repay the favor someday."  
"It's okay." Abed smiles, turns to leave again.  
"Tell Troy I say hi," Jeff calls after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, G.I. Jeff gave me a lot of feelings. I know it's a comedy show and everything, so you can't really focus on stuff like that, but the long and short of it is that Jeff was totally okay with the idea of his own death. Plus, that series 5 opener. [heavy breathing]


End file.
